


Circuitry of the Wolf

by jendavis



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hc_bingo  prompt, "Werewolves: accidental mating for life with inappropriate person."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circuitry of the Wolf

It starts the same way every year.

"Hey, Henry, it's me," Janine's messages says. "I'm in town for the weekend, we're staying at the Brunswick Hotel for a few days. Already checked in, so give me a call whenever." She leaves her number, though it hasn't changed in seven years, and hangs up abruptly.

 _Wait. No. That's not how it starts_.

He never marks it on a calendar- doesn't want the evidence laid out for anyone to see. And it's not like he doesn't know what's coming. Distraction, at first, followed shortly thereafter by agitation, frustration, and eventually, rage.

Two years ago, a snowstorm had delayed her flight three days, and it had taken the better part of a month to cart off the last of the wreckage, and another week after _that_ to be able look anyone in the eye.

Janine's married to guy named Rob, or Bob, something like that. His only abnormality is how _understanding_ he seems to be about the entire situation. Then again, Henry's only talked to him once, on the phone, and that had been years ago. All he really knows are Janine's assurances, and he barely knows _her_ at all.

\---

The first year had been the worst. He hadn't known what was going on, what was driving him to prowl the streets around Kensington, he'd only known the _tension_. It hadn't made any more sense when he turned a corner to find Janine's wild eyes staring back at him in recognition, but by that point, he'd been beyond rational thought for hours, maybe days.

She'd been lucid enough to hand him a condom as she dragged him behind the dumpster, muttering, "If I ever have kids, I don't want to have to tell them they were conceived in an alley."

Blood had been drawn on both sides by the time they heard the police sirens coming closer. From the second year on, they stuck to hotels.

The fourth year, she'd announced her engagement, she'd even invited Henry to the wedding, though she'd probably been relieved when she received his regrets. The fifth year, they'd started reserving two rooms instead of one.

\---

Janine and Robert can't have a kid of their own, and Henry worries what will happen if she ever decides she wants to have the baby. He doesn't honestly know if she'd even _tell_ him about it, and it's a ridiculous downward spiral but…

It could happen.

And what would come next would all depend on Robert, because, _hell_ , the man's gone along with it _this_ far, for years now, but everyone's got a breaking point. For all Henry knows, it could be the end of their marriage.

And everything leading up to it would be Henry's fault, and everything that came after it would be his responsibility. And it scares the hell out of him.

Because- and Henry hates thinking of it this way, he really does- he and Janine, it's not love, and it never has been. It's just a one-night stand that's stretched for fourteen years now.

It's already too much as it is.

\---

Janine takes Plan B before she even reaches for her clothes, just in case, and Henry tries not to feel so relieved, watching her swallow it down as he pulls on his shirt. Then it's a few minutes of awkward small talk that will never go away, and a quick hug in the doorway before he opens the door.

Robert's waiting in a room somewhere in this hotel, but aside from their one horribly awkward phone conversation right before the wedding, the photos Henry's been able to find online, and the scent of him that never entirely leaves Janine's body, they've never met.

Henry scans the hallway quickly before striding for the stairwell, avoiding the elevator and hoping that he doesn't see a familiar face rounding a corner with an ice bucket in hand. It's one thing to assure the stranger on the line that everything's fine, that he understands, that his wife explained everything, or even to drive her into town for the night. It's another thing entirely to come face to face with that stranger when her sweat's not yet dried into his skin.

Exiting the stairwell, Henry catches a faint hint of Robert's scent as he leaves the key at the front desk, and doesn't breathe again until he's in the parking lot.

\---

By the time he's pulling into the garage, Janine's probably already gone back to the room where Roberts waiting, might even be done washing Henry off of her, by now. Maybe they're talking, maybe they're just staring at the television because they can't look each other in the eye.

He can hear Dr. Magnus and Will's voices coming from the study, and even though the doors are closed he takes the back stairs instead, moving quietly so they don't notice him. On the landing, though, Big Guy's door is open and the lights are on, and he finds himself pausing.

"You're back," Big Guy glances up from the book he's reading, but doesn't close it, doesn't ask any questions. Between going through worse every five years and the fact he'd probably caught Janine's scent the moment Henry got home, he doesn’t need to.

Still, though, Henry feels like he's supposed to say something, so he shrugs. "Yeah. Ah. Gonna go take a shower, head to bed. See you in the morning, yeah?"

Biggs nods with a grunt, and turns back to his book as Henry turns down the hall.

\---

The hot water feels good on his sore muscles. He's got scratches on his arm and back, and a bite mark on his shoulder. They're nothing serious, just marks that he wishes weren't there. They'd be gone in a few days.

\---

The adrenaline crash is coming on hard, but his head's still kind of a distant, mumbled mess. He keeps meaning to move away from the drafty window and get into bed- he's exhausted and the floor is cold under feet- but the city lights below are hypnotic. He can't move.

He's not sure that he's actually thinking, but if he were, he'd be wondering what he would be doing, right now, if he hadn't hooked up with Janine after that party on Kensington Street eleven years ago.

He'd be wondering what would be different if, standing in line for the keg, he'd known why the girl standing ahead of him smelled so _amazing_.

He'd be wondering what their lives would look like if she'd known, then, that tequila hadn't been responsible for the blackout she'd experienced the weekend before.

And he'd be thinking, bitterly, that nobody hooks up at a party intent on mating for life.

  
\---

It ends the same way every year.

There's a grunt coming from the door, and footsteps coming across the floor until Big Guy's reflection appears in the room behind Henry's own. A hand claps roughly to his neck, sitting there just long enough for Henry to realize how cold his own skin is.

When the hand withdraws, it's only Biggs, adjusting his grip to steer Henry towards the bed, asking, "You want to talk about it?"

There's a pile of gear sitting on the chair next to the bed- there always is- and Biggs sets it aside, the same way he always does. And again, Henry feels the same flash of irritation, realizing that he hasn't had it cleared off in advance. It's the least he could do.

But he never has, not yet. Maybe it's a denial thing that he still hasn't gotten past, or maybe it's the fact that tonight's probably the only time all year anybody will sit in that chair. Or maybe it's just become part of the ritual.

Biggs, if he's ever noticed it, doesn't seem to care.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks." The bedside light comes on too bright before Biggs dims it, sitting back into the chair and resting the novel on his leg. There are only a hundred or so pages to go before he's finished. He's probably just getting to the good part.

But he doesn't open it yet. He's watching him drag the blankets up over himself, waiting for him to close his eyes, same as he did when Henry was sick as a kid, and same as he did last year.

Big Guy's going to run out of pages in less than two hours, but he'll still be sitting there, in the morning, when Henry wakes up.

And next year, they'll do it all over again.


End file.
